Tuesday, September 25, 2007


Greener grass, browner toast, but scary as a Dalek.

My daughter's friend apparently told her grandmother (who she lives with) that she wishes she was more laidback. "Like Tracey is." Apparently I'm 'cool' because my house is a mess and nothing seems to faze me. (Poor Grandma. Apparently she is more the 'clean freak' type. Who knew that having a clean and tidy house was not something to be admired...) The grass is always greener, of course.. or as this same kid said this afternoon. "How come your toast tastes better than our toast?" So we've coined a new phrase - "The toast is always browner..."

Given that I tend to feel embarrassed about the kids' friends coming round to my dirty, messy house, it hasn't done my self esteem any harm. Heaven knows, much of the time I don't feel like I'm getting anything right....

For example:
Last week said self esteem did take a bit of a battering when said daughter was telling me about a 'Bio Poem' they had to write at school. Bio as in biographical. (Or auto-biographical to be more precise.) She told me they had to include stuff like their favourite things, and things they feared. And up there with Daleks on that latter list was "Mum when she's angry."


Apparently when I get cross, and yell, and bang things around and stomp up the stairs, it's scary. Though given she was telling me this with her arms wrapped around me, and the fact that she was telling me at all, I rationalised that maybe, perhaps, hopefully, she isn't really scarred for life. (And I can't be that bad, if her best mate is of the opinion that I'm laidback... Can I?)

I still needed some saving grace though, and so I asked her who was scarier when mad - me or Dad. "Oh Dad, definitely" she said without a second's hesitation.

I quite relished recounting that bit to him later. Not that it puts either of us in the running for any parenting awards...

I'm also pretty crap today because, according to Ms 14, there was nothing to eat in the house when she got home from school. Only stuff that 'tasted like cardboard'. There were crispbreads. (Lo-fat.... yep, I suppose that's like cardboard.) But there was toast! Good toast, even, so I'm told.

Hmmm... Obviously my kids don't know which side their "toast" is buttered on.

Labels: ,

There's something about girls and their dads. My mum can yell at me for hours and I'm all "meh". Dad just has to raise his voice once and I'm in a pool of tears.

And I know I'm not the only one.
I think kids SHOULD be afraid of their Mums when Mum's angry. yes I do. Otherwise, what would be the point in being angry? 'course, I have all boys, I think the mother-son dynamic is similar to the father-daughter one.. I know that my boys aren't scared a bit of their father, but I can grit my teeth and look at them over the glasses and their all "oooh!" turning into jelly and doing whatever I say.

As for your daughter and the household rations, if she complains, have something worse next time, and each time thereafter. Then, eventually maybe she'll be grateful for toast. It works for boys...
My girls (14&16) are afraid when I am quiet....or out of coffee.

And I am LMAO at the 14 yr old and there is nothing to eat. I have taken to going into Miss 14's room with a pen and paper to write down what exactly she wants me to stock in the smorgasboard that she expects our kitchen to be and she is non-committal. 5 seconds after dragging my exhausted arse into the house lugging 5 tonne of groceries she turns to me and says in a whingy voice 'There is nothing to eeeeeeaaaat!'
And I don't strangle her! Mummy of the year award nominee in the making!

Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?